Who Am I?
by Ancient Egyptian Dreams
Summary: David has come back in search of his daughter Rachael, who he hasn’t seen in over 20 years. Happens to be she works for Pamela, & works sidebyside an assassin, whose after them both. Can father & daughter reunite in time before one, or both, are dead?
1. Bourne Has A Daughter?

**_Disclaimer:_ Unfortunately, I don't own "The Bourne Identity/Supremacy" **

_**A/N: **_

**This is post-Supremacy. I recommend you don't read this if you haven't seen The Bourne Supremacy, because you probably won't understand the story. The only thing that I twisted was that supposedly Jason and Marie were married – like in Star Wars Episode 2 (the very end) and of course they had a daughter.**

**As well, the chapters to come (unless noted otherwise) are unedited, so they won't flow so nicely from this one. I recently began updating my chapters and editing them. Feel free to read, but, as I just said, it may get confusing.**

_**Full Summary:**_

'**Theresa was given away to an elderly lady as an infant, and now 20 years later she is trying to find her parents. One day a man in his 40s came to her home, asking her questions as mysterious as himself…'**

**David Webb has come back in search of his daughter, Lissie, who he hasn't seen in over 20 years. Happens to be, she works for Pamela Landy, and works side-by-side an assassin, whose boss is after both David _and_ Theresa. Can father and daughter reunite in time before one of them – or both – are gone?**

_**R&R, please!**_

**

* * *

"_We'll need to leave her here, Marie. It's the only thing we can do." While his voice spoke confidence, his heart he felt the same tormenting pain. _**" 

_The plank door naturally slammed behind them to keep out India's miserable humidity, as well as any spying eyes. The young couple walked away down the dirt path, the man holding his dear, troubled wife around the shoulder. _

_But, Jason..." Marie shifted, glancing uneasily behind her, "what about when she's older…?" Her head hung, trying to use her long dirt blond hair to fight off the fact that brine began to form in her eyelids. _

_Coming up to the green jeep, Jason unlocked the car door and led Marie in. "It's for Lissie. Remember?"_

_Wordlessly the woman climbed inside. She gathered her breath and through the open window bored into Jason's far-off eyes. "Right, Jason."_

_He reluctantly came to the other side of the jeep and opened his door. Hopping up onto the seat, he started the engine. Its idle grumbling consumed the silence for thirty seconds, until Jason finally replied, "I'll get her back, Marie. I swear I will if it's the last thing I do."_

He wished he could have forgotten about the dreaded roads of New York City. The taxis' and peoples' noise made his head a party for his intense headaches. Maybe he should have taken that pain reliever with him… _David, focus!_

David Webb, now in his early forties, had not seen much active life for too long. The new, or old, change of scene had caused him not to even bother to notice that he had been practically holding his breath for the past fifteen minutes. He had to get out—_No, David! You're too close!_

Coming out of the city square, he followed the directions he had written to a tee. Take one left, now a right… it is that apartment right over there…

Right there. It was right there. He was looking at it. It was real.

Finally, he came to the giant cold apartment complex, searching for the right room number. Finding it, he hesitated to knock. After all, he had not really talked to anybody in years, and he never had a knack for being very social. What if he frightened her, what if he did not said the right thing? What if it wasn't her?

Bourne took a moment to resolve. He felt open to attack as he stood on the sidewalk of the apartment. His only security was in one fact and one fact only—he was currently the only one there. However, his solitary appearance could change to his weakness in her trust.

Still, he had to take the gamble.

**Clonk, clonk.**

Okay, he did it. He had made the first step. Now to just wait and see. _All right, Marie._

-:-:-:-:-

"Tessy, somebody's here to see you, dear. He says he needs to ask you some questions." An elderly woman's voice informed through Teresa Carmen's oak door. "Do you need me to chase him away?" Oh, sweet Carlota. Always looking out for her grown-up daughter.

Theresa Carmen, planted on her worn leather swivel chair, stopped her report and glanced at her digital watch. "Is he another solicitor?"

"I don't think so…" Carlota creaked open her daughter's door. Her short white hair was such a contrast to her young spirit and beauty, but now her wise hazel eyes spoke puzzlement. She may have been fifty-eight, but she still could tell when something was going a little funny. "He seemed really serious about something…"

"Um, well, I'll go and see what it's about." Theresa whipped a few strands of her amber, layered hair out of her face and got up.

As she went pass her mother Carlota chided, "If he asks you to marry him, say no."

The young woman rolled her eyes and laughed at the silly remark as she strode to the door. She peeked through the door hole, noticing on the other side a grim visage with deep green eyes darting quickly from side to side.

Alarm snapped into motion. Theresa involuntarily glanced at the closet, remembering the small handgun she possessed. _No, no._ she murmured to herself as she grinded her teeth.

Cautiously she creaked open the door, barely peeking her head out from the inside.

Towering a head above her was a well-built man, who had snapped into focus as soon as he heard the handle's click. "Theresa Carmen?" he inquired, his voice strong and straightforward. Nevertheless, there was something in his posture when he mechanically shifted, his blue eyes when he stared at her, which looked into her heart to either break it or mend it. His brown crew cut feathered with both naturally white hair and sprinkles of fresh snow. The black leather long coat that clasped upon him was not much of a surprise, due to the icy time of the season.

"Who are you?" Theresa questioned, deftly noting and memorizing these things, just incase.

The visitor's gloomy eyes dared not to look in Theresa's. Why? Simple. He was scared. Uneasily he answered the normal question, hoping, just hoping, this would go right. "David."

The crisp, silent air awkwardly whispered for nearly thirty seconds before the woman produced another question. "And why are you here?" Theresa's hand was becoming unusually sweaty over the handle, which she was grasping. Her nails had an urge to dig into it; her body found it difficult to relax.

David redirected the conversation, "Do you know Pamela Landy?"

Theresa fell stone silent. "…Who's she?" Eyeing her visitor, she watched for any flinch of deceit that might sweep his face.

"Pamela Landy: sixty-seven, five feet ten. She's been working for the intelligence agency for over twenty years, loves green tea and is also a coffee addict, played in Romeo and Juliet at fifteen, father died when she was ten from heat stroke and hates it when people spell her name with 'ie' instead of 'y'. That's Pamela Landy." His straight face and posture provided for his confidence as he stared at her, waiting for her response.

He was teasing her. He had spun her into a web that she had to spin herself out of, before this became even more uncomfortable. Quickly she fibbed, "Sorry, I don' recollect..."

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't care to know more about Bourne, then."

Her ears cocked and tightened, her eyes suddenly fastening more intensely on David. "What do you know about him?" she inquired, honestly curious. Oddly, her cold surroundings seemed to vanish, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her rib cage.

Good. He got her attention. Now he had something to barter. "A lot you'd want to know about, I'm sure. You should already know him, though, so I suppose I won't bother exhausting your time and my own. I'm sorry I came. I was pretty sure you'd know Pam..." He started his way to leave.

"Wait, wait." Theresa grumbled reluctantly, poking her head out slightly. "There's something you want, isn't there?"

David halted in his step, "You couldn't do what I was going to ask, since you obviously don't know Pam. It would be useless." As he talked he became more confident in his words, and yet he was not sure if they were working.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'm looking for someone, just the same as you."

"You want to hire me...? I don't exactly care to be--"

"Are you sure about that?" David pressured, hoping one more he could change her mind.

Skeptically she stared at him, weighing the odds. _This creep wants to hire me to find his daughter... **Sure**._ "Yes, I am. I don't even know you. Sorry." With the cold comment, she shut the door, a frightened sensation ascending her spine. She then peered through the hole to make certain of his whereabouts. He was there, until he shouted inwardly at himself and left.

-:-:-:-:-:-

"Pam?" a masculine voice interrupted from behind the CIA agent's door, shaking her out of her heavy concentration.

She looked up, recognizing the tall figure and short black hair as one of her employees. "Yes, what did you find?" she inquired.

"You'll want to have a look at this. You remember Marie? Bourne?"

Pamela Landy's head locked, her heart thumping insanely against her chest. She wished she had not heard a thing. It was of the past, not of her present, or future. Pamela wanted it kept that way, too. Either way, she knew of Monagan's recent order to find anything of more of that man, and she was to help. Sharply she replied, "What about them?"

The agent flipped a manila folder open, which had been tucked underneath his arm, placing it so his boss could observe. "Look here; Bourne has a daughter."

-:-:-:-:-:-

Theresa Carmen was hardly the one to give up, especially for her own parents. Many suspected that the loveable Carlota was most likely her mother, but she knew better. Carlota was close to her like a mother, and she had thought she was for the first twelve years of her life, until the elderly woman had one night finally broke into tears and told her the scary truth. Theresa Carmen was an orphan. Carlota was merely her guardian, and that was simply it.

Ever since she understood that information, Theresa spent the rest of her life dedicated to finding her parents, who ever they were. Now with her job, she had a better expertise how to seek them out.

Therefore, every night she was on it. With her trusty laptop, she sought out the next possible step closer to her birth parents. Tonight, though, she was on an assignment—to find Jason Bourne.

Nearly eleven PM, Theresa's eyes glued themselves to her laptop. Folding her legs on her bed for comfort, she typed until her fingers screamed of soreness and swelling. That was just how it worked. "Goa, India" she inserted into the search bar. 'Anything new?' She thought grimly. Theresa clicked her mouse and typed, her eyes straining at the 17" screen.

Scanning through archives of newspapers, she had found one out of the hundreds that caught her attention. "Car Falls In River." Interested, she read the paragraph below the headline. "Car falls in river—owner of jeep were presumed dead or missing." A picture of the green jeep being craned up from the river was on the right side of the paragraph. Another one of a man caught the girl's attention. Jason Bourne.

Going into more rabbit holes of facts, it explained, "Jason Bourne had a daughter. She would've been two years old the time of the incident. No one has seen her after her first birthday. Possible connection? Or just all-around bad luck for the family?"

'The same time my parents left me.' Theresa thought with sorrow as she read the date. Wait… the picture of the baby... that baby looked familiar.

Curious, Theresa zeroed in on the face. 'That's… me?'

**

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****Okay, there it is. I hope you liked it. I would really appreciate C&C, so feel free to review! _–Ancient Egyptian Dreams_**


	2. Old Tactics

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Bourne trilogy, movies or books.**

**A/N: Okay, I've deleted the other chapters past this so this will all flow correctly. I have no idea when I'll get the next chapter edited. I'm terribly sorry for the wait! Thing's have been busy. I'd always appreciate reviews!**

**Chapter 2 -- Old Tactics**

* * *

"Bourne has a what?" Pamela Landy breathed, eyes staring in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me." How was this even possible? Marie _died_. That was the end of the story. She _had_ no children... Right?

"A daughter, ma'am. Her name, according to this, is Rachael Marie Bourne."

"Where did you learn this? Are you sure this is legitimate information, Matthew?" Standing behind her lacquered desk, the CIA director frowned upon the thin folder. Now_ they find this out. _Now,_ of all times._

"Well, yes, but—" Matthew Hanckok's sentence cut off by a simple, hollow knock on the door.

A pleasant, peach countenance with almost squinting blue eyes and nervous smile peered from the door, an amber head of hair pulled loosely back into chopsticks. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. Oh, hi, Matthew..." Theresa Carmen, clad in her everyday work clothes of black slacks, jacket and her CIA ID that swung tightly on its collar, provided a polite nod of her head before swerving directly to the point, "Pam? May I speak to you in private? I just learned something very important that you might want to hear, about Bourne."

Pamela Landy paused for a mere second before nodding to Hanckok, gesturing for him to leave. "Come back in twenty minutes. And work up any more facts by that time if possible."

Hanckok reluctantly departed from the scene, leaving his research on Pamela's desk.

Hesitantly, Theresa paced towards her boss' desk, clenching a manila folder in her hand as if she was protecting it with her life. With Pamela's silent permission, she sat down in the leather chair, which stood on the other side of the desk. However, Theresa's frantic nerves made it difficult to stay still.

"Yes, Theresa?" Pamela asked, now settled in her own chair. Picking through Hanckok's research folder, she barely laid eyes on her employee. She sighed and placed the folder to the side of papers. Finally, the CIA instructor looked up. "What is it?" Then she briskly added, "Be quick, please, I don't have much time."

Tessy sat down in the chair that set in front of Pamela Landy's desk. "You know how we've been assigned to find out anything on Bourne?

"Of course..."

"You know how I never knew my parents, right?

Pamela stared in confusion. "Right..."

"Well, look at this," Theresa told as she leaned over, releasing the manila folder and handing it carefully to Pamela.

Lightly picking it up, Pamela stared at it, confused, as she flipped it open. A newspaper clipping, a matte finished baby studio picture, some zoomed in pictures of—him. Yes, that was Bourne: the same look, the same hatred in his eyes. But this was not recent, it was when the CIA worker was still head over the Moscow plant. She glanced to the other images—she did not want to see those eyes. "What is this?" she briskly asked.

"Yesterday... a man came, to my house. He tried to bribe me, saying he had information to Bourne, but he wanted to hire me to find somebody of his."

"Did you?"

Theresa frowned, "No. It was tempting, but no."

Emitting a sigh of relief, Pamela nodded for continuation. Yes, that was the rule. No answering to bribers—you could never be in for good. Theresa knew all that.

"Anyway," the CIA agent breathed in deeply and slowly released the breath. Clearing her throat she continued her story, "That night, I was researching Bourne, as usual. I found... I found this." She pointed to the newspaper clipping. "The jeep, that fell in the river in Goa. As it goes, it says that the man, Bourne, possibly had a daughter. Rachael Marie. See anything similar?" Theresa searched for clues on Pamela's face as her boss noted the two pictures she had pointed out: one of Theresa, as a baby, the other of Rachael, from the newspaper. Striking similarities, indeed.

"C-Carlota always said she used to live in Goa," murmured Theresa.

"So you think you're a secret descendant of Bourne?" Pamela frowned, not certain if she was to be pleased or irritated. This was the last thing she needed on her plate.

"I... I don't know, Pam. It's such a crazy supposition. I'm related to the man we're trying to track down, yeah, that's a little crazy. But it's not impossible! I think." Theresa's eyes gazed at the desk; everything a slight blur. No, she did not know. It was a dangerous hope. "Oh, and about the man, earlier that day. He said he knew you. Even Romeo and Juliet..."

This grabbed Pamela's utter attention. "Romeo and Juliet? I've only told you about it. How could he know? What did he look like? Are you sure...?"

"Now that I think of it..." Theresa's eyebrows knitted, her mouth slowly began gaping. "He looked like an older version of...

"Bourne. That was Bourne."

-:-:-:-:-

Cold eyes glared in disgust. They always did when he looked as his hired assassin. "Why are you even back here?" he growled. "You still don't have it done. Will it ever get done? Or should I do it myself, and add you to my list?" The small lips curled on his strong-jawed face. "You've wasted every opportunity. Why? You're no use!"

His assassin frowned. His position as "no use" meant the same as expendable, and he didn't like the taste of that feeling. Why did he stay? He had killed every one else off on his boss' list. But not _them_.

-:-:-:-:-

'_Too quiet.' Jason Bourne thought. 'Way too quiet.' Rachael was too quiet, that's what worried him. Quickly he got up from the bed. Hesitantly he grabbed his gun and silencer from his slipper. While trying not to disturb Marie, who was sleeping nearby him, he stealthily paced to the baby's cradle, which was several rooms down. No, nothing was wrong with the baby girl. Still something was not right. He turned around sharply. A figure stiffened in the nightlight. Jason found it hard to see the intruder's face, though he was able to make out a gun with a silencer in its hand. Then Rachael wailed. _

"_Who are you? I told you to stay away from us!" Bourne hissed between his gritted teeth, pointing his own weapon at the villain. _

_The intruder dared not reply. Its eyes narrowed, Jason could tell. _

"_I swear if you hurt my family, you'll wish you hadn't." The black clad intruder crashed one of the lamps in the room, then during the commotion escaped through the window, leaving with no trace… Then, Marie's voice. He could see her, coming from the bedroom. "Jason?" she murmured. Suddenly her gentle voice became excited. "David! It's time to wake up!"_

"David, time to wake up. David, time to wake up. David—"

"Stupid alarm." David hissed, turning over on his side and slamming off his personalized alarm clock. Unconsciously he gazed at the ceiling of his small apartment as he wiped his forehead. Four am: time to start his miserable day. Remembering yesterday's failure, he grumbled under his breath and relieved a heavy sigh. Were his hopes hopeless? Now he may have the CIA on his back. Maybe hacking into their computer system wasn't the smartest idea after all... Stupid Bourne. Yes, it was all Bourne's fault. _Stop it, Webb. It will still work if you would stop doubting yourself, _his consciousness rebuked.

Then come up with a new way, he thought, eyes studied on the floor as he pushed himself to get up. He walked over to his bathroom; he stared in the mirror. There had to be a way to make her believe. A way to figure out... It finally hit him.

Back to old tactics.

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**Sorry, you guys, for making you all wait so long for a new edited chapter. I've been terrible busy! Please review – Ancient Egyptian Dreams**


	3. Perplexed

How long does it take to complete one stinkin' chapter that's basically already been written?

Long enough, obviously.

The last section of this chapter is very, very rough draft. However, I've decided to post it up for you anyway. Please provided your constructive cristism and comments. They are very, very much appreiciated.

So sorry for the eternity of waiting!

* * *

"Bourne. That was Bourne? Are you sure, Theresa? Certain? Completely certain?" Pamela furrowed her eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. Certain... Could Theresa possibly be right? Theresa was rarely wrong... which, obviously, frightened Pamela a little more than she would have hoped.

Stuttering, the younger CIA agent squinted, staring into the side of the desk. Was it? Was it? She kept asking herself, a frown planted on her face as she tried difficultly to see the man's visage again. Was it? "I... I'm... not _sure_. That paper was about twenty years old, anyway. I... I could be wrong. But... It must have been. But it doesn't make sense! I don't know. I don't know." She pursed her lips, the crease of her eyebrows becoming more evident. "Bourne is an assassin, and he isn't stupid. That would explain the Romeo and Juliet, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, yes it would," murmured Pamela, not exchanging eye contact. "Even if you're wrong, that man was trying to bribe you, which means he knows something we may not want him to know about. He's had access to our information somehow."

"Why me?" Theresa thought, her boss's conversation becoming muted as the agent stared out the giant, cityscape windows, which overlooked New York's tremendous amount of skyscrapers and taxis. His face... she knew that face. She didn't see evil, but pain and tears. Same as they were twenty years ago.

-:-:-:-:-

He noted her every step, her every breath, her every moment. At least for now. At that moment she had left the building, that purple knitted scarf covering even the tip of her chin. Her one un- mitt hand held a cell phone to her freezing ear, for she was calling home. Furtively, her eyes darted back and forth, and then towards the parking lot, the tar ground, her car, and then her hands again. What was she so paranoid about? Theresa was rarely that way—as far as he knew.

David carefully studied the woman till he knew she was on her way back. _What a stalker you are, Bourne._ Usually his conscience was deaf to him while he performed his "analysis," but his own possible daughter? What a creep! He knew it, but there wasn't any other way. He had to keep his cover. That fact was so graven into his mentality, David knew there was no way out. Survival instincts, Conklin had once coined it.

Silently he started his engine._ I'll_ _get her back, Mari, if it's the last thing I do._

Carefully he weaved his way through the busy streets of New York's crowded yellow taxis. Keeping a keen eye on Theresa's navy blue automobile, David was able to follow the woman all the way to her humble apartment.

She stepped out of the car. She checked her keys, she locked the door. Finally, she was pacing towards her home.

Up the stairs... opening the door... Yes. It's closed.

Furtively, David Webb sat in his own car, thankful the glass windows were tinted. Fingering for his cell phone, which was hidden discreetly in a coat pocket, the former assassin recalled the lines he had perfectly memorized. For once in his life, he hands were trembling, he heart racing. C'mon, David! He fought. He reluctantly pressed the digits for her number... Think!

-:-:-:-

Calmly the twenty-or-so year old sighed and walked to her bedroom. Carlotta was out buying more scrumptious organic food, she knew, so Theresa took no care to worry about her guardian. Once in her miniscule room, she sat down the manila folders that had found refuge under her arm since she left the CIA building upon the ply wood desk, among the piling paper clips, newspapers, and random pictures. With that she plopped upon her bouncy bed, closing her eyes for a moment of serenity.

Then the phone rang.

Body involuntarily jumping, Theresa felt the surprise and sudden shock of the shrill ring penetrating the common silence. Quickly, she pushed herself off the bed and grabbed for the phone on the desk, after shoving aside an article on family reunions. Soothing down her shirt, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello. This is..." the deep voice trailed. "Kain. Andrew Kain."

-:-:-:-

As soon as her voice had emitted, he felt his heart pounce again, a tight knot chocking at his throat. After answering under the name of Kain, he already felt like a complete idiot.

-:-:-:-

Where had she heard that voice before? It panged at her memory. She remembered the man at the door, but it couldn't be... "Yes? How may I help you?" she replied uncertainly.

"I'm Jason Bourne."

The world... it froze. It zoned. It... it wasn't there.

Theresa could feel herself get hot. Her cheeks burned, but her feet were icy cold. Already, she felt a headache swooning over her. How was this possible? Gaping, the orphan could not find her tongue to reply.

"Why are you looking for me? What does the CIA have anything to do with me? Why? Answer me!" Jason commanded, though he hadn't honestly met to be harsh.

Theresa still couldn't feel her tongue. For months the entire CIA was looking for this man, and now he was calling _her_! "I-I..."

"Why are you searching for me?" he asked with a touch of harsh irritation stringing through his commanding voice.

"Why are you calling me?" Theresa quickly directed.

"You obviously want me to."

Eyebrows furrowing in partial confusion, she inquired, "What do you want?"

"You're staying with a woman. Is she your mother?"

"No, but... what does that have to do with anything--" Suddenly, her eye caught the glimpse of a creeping, black figure. A man. In the closet? Heart racing, she softly pressed the cancel button on her phone, pretending she still held the conversation. "Oh, but of course," she said aloud, understanding the difficult position of the intruder. Pacing softly outside of her room and into the kitchen, Theresa opened a top shelf and grabbed her small revolver hidden discreetly in the back corner.

-:-:-:-

"What does that have to do with anything—" her voice questioned. Then stopped. Everything.

"Theresa? Theresa?" he tried hurriedly. Realizing the short conversation had been hung up, Bourne shouted his frustration and jammed the key into the ignition. Seething in anger, he started the Chevy and made his way out.

-:-:-:-

She seriously thought her throbbing heart would give her away. Gun in hand, the CIA agent entered her mysteriously quiet room. She neared the closet. Closer, closer. Aiming the revolver towards the white door, she declared, "Come out!"

Nothing. Risking her leg, Theresa shoved open the door and quickly aimed the gun into the closet. The only intruder was the accumulating dust on the shelves.

_Creeeak..._

Quickly she ran to the squeaking, open window. The black clad man jumped into the van. He glanced back.

Wait. Where had she seen his face before?

-:-:-:-

Well, he escaped with his life. As for his dignity, he had to reconsider.

He just couldn't do it.

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End file.
